Whispers of Flowers
by Chronos Mephistopheles
Summary: A series of random head canon stories and entries about Bishop Labrador taken from my askbishoplabrador blog on tumblr.
1. Dreams

originally posted on my bishop labrador RP blog on tumblr. i'll probably be posting these there as i come up with them, and then publish them here to share with everyone else.

**Dreams**

Labrador never liked reminiscing about the time he was called Ilyusha, or the fact his life had been one large game until his time as a Ghost. The flowers could always sense this mood, and they would dance and sing in their little language, in attempts to get him to smile, or fall asleep, or to ignore the horrible thoughts of the past and the numerous things he would dwell on.

Sometimes it worked, and the flowers restless behavior would catch someone's attention, which would then lead a sister or one of the other Ghosts to find him. Other times the flowers would cover him in a dome, protecting him from the outside world as he lost himself in visions of the past and future, his sight dropping, and he would be surrounded by darkness and the comforting embrace of his babies.

And there were times the visions would be of pain, and sadness, and death, and memories of a time before Ghosts. He would remember Verloren, and Eve, and the Chief of Heaven's decree. He would remember the flowers, and the way the Flower of Eden flourished under the flow of his blood, the roots making their way under his skin, the feeling of being split open, of his body no longer being just his, the cognizant plant making itself comfortable in his body, in his skin, in his brain. He would remember that servant girl who only wanted to help and was devoured with his own hands, his own mouth, the blood soaked up and helping him grow and live longer.

Those dreams he would wake up, his hands covering his mouth, muffling the screams and the cries he wished he could give. Those dreams haunted him, and he knew more than anyone that if he could brush them off he would. But his dreams were always the truth, always spoke the truth. And no matter how much he wished he _wouldn't_ remember, Profe would always remember: All the people who visited, all the people who prayed, all those who asked for guidance, Profe remembered every one. Every child who got lost in the flowers and listened to their incomprehensible ramblings. Every elder who was set in their ways but still wished for happiness. Every adult who needed that little push to help them set things right.

But the dreams of peace, though few and far between, did visit here and there. Dreams about the Ghosts not being needed anymore. Dreams of peaceful relaxation amongst his babies without a care. And dreams about Teito, Frau, and Castor being happy. Those were the best dreams of all. Those dreams comforted him, more than the hugs from Castor, more than the joking calls of Labrador-'kaasan/'neechan, more than the bright smiles he'd see on Teito's face, more than the whispers of comfort of the flowers. With those he'd awake with a smile, singing and entertaining the flowers for hours, not even bothering trying to see, bumbling about the garden blindly, a bright smile as bright as the sun for all to see.

It was those tiny dreams, thin and rare and highly unlikely, that kept Ilyusha Krat going, and made him grateful to be Profe, at least one more day.


	2. You're Next

Yet another drabble taken from my askbishoplabrador tumblr that had originally planned to be a CasLab post and turned into the following. I hope you'll enjoy. ((if you're unaware, tumblrs have the option to receive messages from "anonymous", and a "magic anonymous" gave Labrador a labrador puppy, which he hasn't named yet... hence the ending.

**You're Next**

It had been a while, the eldest bishop thought to himself, sitting in the garden and drinking the last dregs of the most recent batch of tea. Castor had been off and out of the Church for who knows how long, just as Labrador had practically trapped himself in his gardens and the plants and the fields, trying to keep himself occupied and not allow himself to be caught up in visions again.

He found himself losing his 'sight' for moments at a time, particularly when he would be sitting the garden, and that flowers would be communicating with him. He was getting more and more tired, sleeping more often than not, and his regular duties of listening to people and their concerns was getting pushed to the wayside. Labrador couldn't focus, the ringing in his ears, a sign of an important vision, was growing, slowly but steadily as the days went on.

He feared what would be revealed.

The bishop had been tending to the meadowsweet when a wave of heat started from mid-back and traced its way up his spine, through his neck, and to the back of his head. And then it spread like fingers along his skull. He dropped to his knees, not hearing the cries of the Sisters who had been tending the garden with him, nor their touches as they tried to rouse him from the stupor he had entered.

_There was Castor, and blood, and bonds, and blood, and screams and Teito and Frau and that general. There was death and crying, and the princess, and Teito. And Castor. Castor missing an arm. Castor trying to fight the urge to scream as he was eaten whole. And a smile, wide and lined with sharp teeth, mouthing "You're next."_

The heat rose, and he felt as though he was being cooked from the outside, and teeth were digging into his arm, and he was being swallowed whole, someone crying for him, something trying to tell him it was going to be okay, but it wasn't going to be okay. He was going to die. Profe was gone. And the heat! The unbearable heat of a furnace, of an oven, of a _stomach_.

He finally gave in, stopped fighting, after a period of time. Something cool pressed against his side, and a whimper followed it. Labrador somehow wrapped his arms around it, and clung to the one source of coolness nearby in the inferno.

When his vision came back, Labrador was curled around the dog some anon had given him over a month before. The puppy wasn't so much of a puppy any longer, steadily getting bigger and taller, and it peered at him with its huge eyes. Labrador slowly sat up, taking note of the grass stains on his robes, the paw shaped dirt marks, a slight bruising around his wrist. There were no sisters nearby, the sun was still shining, the gardens appeared to still be working just fine. He could even hear the voices of each flower calling to him, asking him if he was alright.

But there was no Frau nearby. No Teito. No Sisters. No children. No Castor.

Labrador was alone. And he was next.


End file.
